More Than Meets the Eye
by cosmic-owl
Summary: Three standalone drabbles. Transformers!Glee  Kurt/Blaine
1. Blink And He's Gone

Title: More Than Meets The Eye (1/3)  
>Media: Fic<br>Rating: PG13-R  
>Pairing: KurtBlaine  
>Warnings: car!kinks, cracky premise, Transformers!AU<br>AN: One of three drabbles, self-fulfilling prompt. Just trying to force myself not to flesh out every single idea I get into a full blown, multi chapter story. None of the drabbles are connected, besides being set in a Transformers!AU.

Blink, and He's Gone

Summary: Blaine knows, as he sits alone with Kurt, that if he blinks again, a millennium will go by and he'll miss watching this human boy completely. Autobot!Blaine, human!Kurt

He gets teased when he picks his car form.

"Seriously?," Sam laughs, looking him over cheerfully, a yellow and black striped Camaro.

"What?," Blaine asks defensively, "I like it...and it was the best option out of everything I saw-stop laughing!"

Sam just laughed harder, his voicebox crackling. "It's just, you're the youngest one out of all of us, yet here you are in the biggest form!" Blaine glared, grounding his tires in frustration. He liked the size of his form, the power the slate grey Navigator seemed to possess. It made him feel like he could take on this strange little world, maybe even the entire Decepticon army. Wes rolled up to them, letting out a hiss of exasperation.

"We are supposed to be discreet, not stick out like loose mufflers!," he snapped, eyeing their forms.

Sam revved up his engine good-naturedly. "Dude," he said, delighted to finally use some of the Earth slang, "you're a silver Lamborghini."

He gets teased when he picks out his projection form.

This time, even Wes is joining in on the laughter.

"Can that tiny human body even get into your car form?," Sam's projection was leaning against his car form, an all American surfer type, with bleach blonde hair and anatomically incorrect lips.

"What's wrong with me now," Blaine groans exasperatedly. All he's trying to do is be a little different. Both Wes and David, and to a point, Sam, are being boring about their choices. Wes and David are both average height, weight, and above average attractiveness. From different genetic backgrounds, but still similar enough. They are dressed in black suits, and they seem so boring. Even Sam, who's in jeans and a yellow and black jacket, has given himself this ethereal beauty, this inhuman symmetrical perfection.

Blaine is shorter than average, kind of stocky. He's got a curly mop of hair on his head and a slightly imperfect smile. His eyebrows are wild, and he's got knobbly knees. There are dark jeans and a black peacoat projected on his body. And just because he can, he materializes a pair of hot pink sunglasses on his face that don't match anything at all.

"Whatever," he says, ignoring the other's sniggering as his projection jumps into the driver seat. "It's not like I plan on using this form often. The boy is going car shopping tomorrow. I'll just make sure he chooses me."

When Kurt sits in the driver seat the next day, it feels like all two and a half millennia he's been in existence had been leading up to this moment.

Even through the week and a half of huge misunderstandings, life or death situations, car chases and government conspiracies, Blaine has never felt closer to another lifeform. Kurt is this amazing, intricate little ball of energy, a source of fascination and contradictions. He was a combination of soft and sharp features, sweet smiles and stinging wit. A flood of emotion and wall of stoicism. He was infectious, worming his way into Blaine's spark like no else had ever tried. And he's almost positive Kurt feels the same way. Even before he revealed his Autobot form to Kurt, before Kurt even knew he was more than a car, Kurt would spend a lot of time with him. It made Blaine feel, big and strong, warm and comforting. When Kurt would drive, Blaine learned his preferences in music (and would subsequently fiddle with the radio stations, giving Kurt more of his favorite songs to sing along with). He let Kurt huddle in his seats, cry softly after a particularly hard day of school. (He may or may not have accidentally set off a missile in retaliation to some jocks bearing down on him, armed with cans of spray-paint and disgusted looks.)

When Kurt ran, ran so fast and hard, carrying the Cube, flashing out of sight behind explosions and debris, destroying Megatron, it was-it was the most terrifying moment Blaine has ever witnessed. Something sparked, burned, rattled his circuits in those tense seconds, minutes, when Kurt was out of sight. When it's all over, he closes his optics for a moment in relief.

And just like that, it's six months later.

Blaine and Kurt are out on a long drive, Blaine doing the driving despite Kurt being in the driver's seat.

"Hey," Kurt murmurs drowsily, petting the dashboard in affection, "You want to stop and stretch your legs?" Blaine revs his engine at the touch, and projects his sensors, looking for any Decepticon movement, any other humans in the vicinity. There isn't anyone around for miles, just him and Kurt and empty farmland. Kurt laughs, a quiet giggle, and they pull off to the side of the road. Blaine opens his door for Kurt, letting him out onto the road, then backs up to transform. His human projection materializes next to Kurt, who still jumps a little in surprise. Blaine then picks up Kurt and his other form, walking out into the middle of the field. The sun was slowly setting, painting a fleeting, beautiful moment for them. Blaine settles down, with a ground shaking thump, laying Kurt gently against his chestplate. Blaine's projection immediately snuggles closer to Kurt, pulling him to rest his head on Blaine's chest.

"I still don't understand how you feel so real," Kurt says, gently nuzzling into the fabric of Blaine's shirt. It's an old conversation, a lot of technical explanations that go far over Kurt's level of understanding.

"Nanotechnology," Blaine replies, just as he always does. What he doesn't tell Kurt is that every heartbeat, every nuance of Kurt's being is recorded and preserved. That his human projection is firing hundreds of messages, bits of information on how Kurt feels against his sensory receptors, how he smells, how every noise is a recorded soundbite. He doesn't tell Kurt how much it means to him that Kurt loves all his forms, all his flaws and imperfections. Blaine just holds the human closer, cradling him and recording the sinking sun paint beautiful colors across his face.

One day, one day after another, after a hundred years of one days, Kurt will be gone. And Blaine will exist, and keep on existing, and go on to do so after the human race goes extinct, after Earth dies out and there is no more.

Blaine doesn't tell Kurt that he's stopped blinking, that he's afraid he'll close and reopen his eyes and find Kurt no longer knows, as he sits alone with Kurt, that if he blinks again, a millennium will go by and he'll miss watching this human boy completely.


	2. At Your Perusal

Title: More Than Meets The Eye (2/3)  
>Media: Fic<br>Rating: PG13  
>Pairing: KurtBlaine  
>Warnings: car!kinks, cracky premise, Transformers!AU<br>AN: Two of three drabbles, self-fulfilling prompt. Just trying to force myself not to flesh out every single idea I get into a full blown, multi chapter story. None of the drabbles are connected, besides being set in a Transformers!AU.

At Your Perusal

Summary: Kurt is fiddling with his car, which gets Blaine a lot more hot and bothered than it should. Allspark!Blaine, car!foreplay

Blaine didn't transfer to Dalton because he was bullied. Well, ok. He didn't transfer because of human bullies. Actually, those government agents were pretty aggressive. And technically, when he stops to think about it, if his first car hadn't been vandalized so badly, none of this would have ever happened...

Let's start over.

Eight and a half months before Kurt Hummel transfers to Dalton, Mr. Anderson buys his son a car.

It's a pre-owned Camaro, with black racing stripes and bright yellow paint. It's an older model, but it still had a vintage, edgy appeal to it. Mr. Anderson doesn't give any reason as to why he purchases it for his son, just gives the car salesman his credit card and a tight lipped smile. Blaine is just grateful he doesn't have to drive around a car with smashed out windows and obscenities spraypainted on the side of his door anymore.

Eight months before Kurt Hummel transfers to Dalton, Blaine Anderson saves the world.

The government covers it up with military testing gone wrong, a terrible accident at the power plant, pays off millions in taxpayer's dollars to lie to the world that everything is fine, and an alien race of sentient robots didn't almost destroy Earth and enslave the human race. Or that a sixteen year old boy was able to stop it by thrusting some alien Holy Grail of a Rubik's Cube into the evil overlord robot. Blaine doesn't mind not getting any fanfare for his sacrifice. He thinks the reward of having a sentient car and a half dozen alien friends was worth the trouble.

Seven months before Kurt Hummel transfers to Dalton, Blaine Anderson notices some changes in himself.

Not the mental type of changes, like for him to be a better person, or to live life to the fullest. And not really what would be typically considered normal for puberty, either. He's still recuperating in a military hospital, when he notices these little glyphs appear on his arm. They trail down to this really bad cut on his hand, the one that closed up the soonest, the one that looks a little metallic looking when the light hits it a certain way. It only gets worse from there. Electronics go haywire when he walks into a room. He begins memorizing people, information, understanding concepts that some of the scientists on base don't even understand in seconds, after one look.

Ratchet catches on, and eventually concludes that the All Spark, the lifeforce of the Cube, was living inside him. Blaine tried explaining it to his parents, but it was met with the same reactions as when he told them he was gay. Confusion and disappointment, and forcing him out of their heteronormative lives. It must have come to a relief to them when the government offered to take over his as his guardian, as they signed him over as a ward of the state without incident. Blaine found it kind of sad how Optimus Prime became more of a father to him in the few months he knew him than his real father had been all Blaine's life.

Six months before Kurt Hummel transfers to Dalton, Blaine Anderson transfers to Dalton.

It was one day, out of the blue, in the middle of May. He walks into the Grand Hall, half healed and jumping at every little noise. All the boys believed him when Blaine said he transferred because of bullying, all sympathetic over his bruises and more than willing to help him catch up in time for finals. Not that Blaine needed the extra help studying, not after he skimmed through his textbooks the first day and had everything memorized. It helped though, to be surrounded by peers his age, to not be judged as this new hybrid freak, a threat to national security, or pressured and poked like some science experiment. It also helped that the Autobots were building a base nearby, to stay close to him in case of another Decepticon attack. And no one would ever think that aliens would build their home base in Nowhere, Ohio. Blaine was just glad not to be out of touch with his new family. So as the glyphs and bruises and trauma fade, Blaine gets used to his new life, his new routine. He joins the Warblers, aces all his classes, and blends in with the rest of the boys. (And no one needs to know he goes home after school to a secret base to play videogames with a millennium old robot, or get motherhenned by a 23-foot-tall medical officer. Or that he still gets the best night's rest in Bee's backseat.) Just a typical weekend, really.

Two months after Kurt Hummel transfers to Dalton, Blaine wishes he just kept driving that piece of shit car with the shattered windows. Because this was absolute torture. (But then would have never met Kurt, which would have been an absolute travesty.)

This day started so innocently, too.

Bumblebee was out at an Autobot meeting. And Blaine, bored with going to another meeting where they speak in a language he doesn't understand and talk about other 'bots that he's never met, gives Kurt a call to see if he was bored too.

Kurt laughs at him and said, "I live in Lima, Blaine. Of course I'm bored." And then offers to pick him up and go to the mall or see a movie, something to get them out of going stir crazy in their homes. And Blaine loves that idea, he truly does. There's not a lot of stuff to do without the Autobots around and he loves spending time with Kurt, so when Kurt picks him up he's not thinking about weather advisories or spending an excessive amount of time in Kurt's car.

But it's December, in Ohio. Of course there is a snowstorm.

Kurt eventually has to pull off to the side of the road, it's so bad. Then it's just the two of them, listening to a mixed CD and watching the snow buildup on the windshield. Blaine brings his seat down, under the pretense of taking a nap, so Blaine closes his eyes and tries his very best to withdraw himself, to concentrate and do the mental exercises Ratchet taught him to keep calm. He steadies his breath, and wills himself not to reach out with the All Spark's power. Kurt doesn't mind, lowering his seat too, smiling at him and asking if he could keep playing his music. And up to that point, everything was manageable. Under control, even.

Then Kurt started touching his car. He thrums his long milky digits on the steering wheel, smoothing the lightest caress of his palm on the armrest, tweaking the volume with a tight pinch of his thumb and forefinger, squirming his lithe body against his seat.

And all the while Blaine is next to him, eyes closed, trying not to moan and jerk his hips and the influx of sensations flooding him from contact with the car. It's his dirty little secret that he's only told Ratchet; that he can be aroused through the electronics around him. The feeling of every touch, every electrified caress of someone else's fingertips can bring him over the edge. He can feel the smooth, slightly cold fingers ghosting his forearm, a shivering touch on his stomach, the sudden twist of a nipple. It's both amazing and embarrassing to have the feel of foreign hands ghosting his skin, this wireless connection of heightened senses.

And then, after so much teasing, his sensory dam breaks and the touch overreaches his control.

"Blaine?," Kurt called softly, grasping his arm. It was too much, too sensitive-Blaine's hands flew without thinking, the staticky shock of arousal coursing through his veins. He grabbed Kurt, threading his fingers through his hair and brought him down to meet his lips. It was passionate, it felt like a hundred pleasurable shocks hit his mouth. And then his head finally caught up his body.

He's kissing Kurt, the boy who had his first kiss stolen without warning.

So he's trying to reel back, explain and beg for forgiveness. Except Kurt follows him, peppering his jaw with too hot kisses, following him over the seat and falling into his lap.

Oh god.

Blaine couldn't help but buck up under Kurt's weight. That sends Kurt rocking back, flushed and surprised.

"Oh!," he squeaks. He scrabbles back, his nails dragging harshly on the interior of the door, on the armrest. It goes straight to Blaine's inner thighs, causing him to roll back his eyes in ecstasy.

"Kurrrt." He groans the name, rolling the 'r', devolving and debasing what was once just an ordinary letter, his voice wrecked and growling.

Kurt is a jumbled mess, combing his fingers through his hair into ruffled cowlicks, a flush of reddened cheeks and an erratic one sided defense. With his hands on himself or waving in the air, Blaine has enough preservation to come down from his lust-high and make sense of what Kurt has been half apologizing, half explaining to him. Blaine is horrified as to what he discovers.

"-I didn't, this isn't, I mean, they told me you would be sensitive, but Ratchet promised me you could handle it-"

Any residual haze of soul searing, gut bursting desire was diminished, and replaced with the utter mortification that Kurt had met Ratchet.

The 23 foot tall medical officer, sentient robot, Ratchet.

The Ratchet who thinks discussing the inner workings of teenage masturbation is an acceptable conversation starter.

Ratchet, who apparently had been talking to Kurt about him.

(Ok, that's a lie, Blaine is still rock hard, but his ability to focus past Kurt's lips/hands/weight settled across Blaine's thighs (without salivating) has sharpened at the mention of Ratchet's name.)

"Wha-?" Blaine's half question rolls out of his dazed mouth before he can stop it. It shuts Kurt up immediately, and the only sound now is coming from the soft sounds of the stereo system.

Blaine tries to get the words out again, albeit with more success.

"You've met Ratchet?", he manages to get out. "You know about the Autobots-?"

Kurt wrings his hands, before nodding his head, not looking Blaine in the eye.

"Yeah," he says in a tiny voice, "They're one of the reasons I'm able to afford Dalton. After eight hours of interrogation on my plans for your virtue, they decided to give me a full ride to Dalton as a reward. Because I have proven to be an exceptional friend to you."

Kurt leans forward a little, placing his hands on Blaine's forearms. The touch leaves Blaine hyperaware of every movement, the friction of each atom rubbing together. Blaine holds his breath.

Kurt looks into Blaine's eyes, desperate to prove his sincerity.

"I was going to wait until you brought it up on your own, you know? I still can't believe the government hid this away from the public, I can't believe that you almost killed yourself to save the world, and no one knows about it. Blaine."

Kurt's voice wavers as he leans a little closer, grips Blaine's arms a little tighter.

"Blaine," he says softer, head tilted down, looking at him through his lashes. Blaine remained stock still, trying to will his body not to come right there and then. From one fucking look.

Kurt gives him a gentle smile.

"Your Camaro came to see me under the pretense of needing an oil change."

Blaine grits his teeth and narrows his eyes, annoyed.  
>"Bumblebee," he mutters it like a curse. Oh, he'd get him back for that.<p>

"Hey," said Kurt, cupping Blaine's cheek in his palm, "after I made sure I wasn't hallucinating from inhaling too much exhaust, and being scared witless by a talking car, I'm really glad I got to meet him. Them. Even Ironhide, who took me to a junkyard to fire his guns to show what would happen to me if I ever dumped you."

Kurt's thumb brushes along Blaine's cheekbone, burning like a brand.

Blaine stares back at him, mortified and erection starting to wilt.

"Kurt," he starts to say, but Kurt glides his fingers over to Blaine's lips. It takes a formidable amount of restraint not to just open his mouth and start to suck on those delectable fingers.

"I like you, Blaine, I like you a lot. Even with your crazy family of sentient robots, and your idolization of Katy Perry, and your dubious taste in sweater vests. And it would be an honor to be your boyfriend." Kurt's brow drew together nervously, and he drew back his hand from Blaine's face.

"That is, if you still-"

Blaine was on Kurt's mouth, full tongue and panting before he could say anything else.

Yes.

God yes.

Blaine only pulled back enough to respond when his lungs started to burn from a lack of oxygen.

"Of course, Kurt," he breathes out hoarsely, distracted by the saliva smeared on Kurt's lips.

"Of course I want to-"

That's all he has time to get out before Kurt is dragging him back for another searing kiss. It's when he moves onto nibbling his earlobe and putting his hands up Blaine's shirt that Blaine has a moment of clarity through the incredible overload of pleasure.

"Wait, wait," Blaine chokes out, grabbing both of Kurt's wrists to stop him from tracing his pecs. Kurt reluctantly moves back, failing at looking innocent and looking and more coy and impatient.

"You knew about my...sensitivity?"

Kurt bats his eyes and shrugged. "Ratchet may have mentioned it. Maybe not to do it? Or was it to do so? He said an awful lot about you being stressed, and not getting the proper recognition as a hero."

Kurt blushed, a little self conscious.

"I thought you wouldn't mind a little affection. Hero worshipping? A thank you for saving the world?" Kurt leans in for another kiss, hoping to end the conversation.

"No," says Blaine, and he flips their positions, bringing Kurt's hands up over his head. A seatbelt slithers up and around them. Hands now free, Blaine palms Kurt's erection through his jeans, watching Kurt buck helplessly.

"No," Blaine repeats, nuzzling his face into Kurt's neck and grinding into Kurt's lap, "I think you were being a tease."

Kurt moans breathily into his ear, and Blaine can't help but shiver.

"Let me show you what happens when you tease a hero, Kurt." And then Blaine's hands were roaming underneath Kurt's shirt, pinching and twisting his nipples, another petting the small of his back. Kurt bucked harder, and Blaine's hand traveled from Kurt's chest to his jeans...and below.

Blaine was so glad that he saved the world.


End file.
